


Page Three Hundred and Ninety Four

by ajkal2



Series: Lionhearts [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Gen, Hogwarts Express, Hogwarts First Year, The Sorting Hat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 16:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajkal2/pseuds/ajkal2
Summary: Steve Rogers, 11-year old werewolf, meets James Barnes, heir of the Darkest House in the United Kingdom, on the Hogwarts Express. What happens next may shock you...





	Page Three Hundred and Ninety Four

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prongsyouignoramus (ItUnscrewsTheOtherWay)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItUnscrewsTheOtherWay/gifts).



Steve’s Ma grasped his hand tightly, tugging him through the crowds. Kings Cross Station was heaving, full of businessmen in sharp suits and women in flowing dresses. Steve’s whole body thrummed with excitement. He wanted to run on ahead, shout, wave his arms. But Ma had that pinched frown, the _ohgodohgod_ one not the _stevengrantrogerswhatdidyoudo_ one, so Steve stayed close.

 

“It’s just through here,” she said, flashing a smile at Steve. “Have you got everything?”

 

“Yes, Ma.” His hand drifted to his pocket, the long smooth shape of his wand. His trunk was heavy, filled with books and a _cauldron_ and a _pointy hat._ His cheeks were aching from grinning. “Is it really a wall?”

 

“Professor Erskine said it was an illusion in his letter, dear.”

 

“But it looks like a wall, and then you walk through it, and the platform is there?”

 

“Yes, Steve. Just like the last time you asked me.” Ma’s eyes crinkled at the edges.

 

Steve couldn’t help it. He’d known about magic before, of course, he wasn’t stupid. But he’d never thought there would be pointy hats, and robes, and a special train to take him to school.

 

They turned onto Platform 9, and Steve caught a flash that _might’ve_ been an owl in a cage. He squeezed Ma’s hand, craning his neck, but it was gone. Ma pulled him to a stop, in an alcove, and Steve couldn’t take it anymore, his knee kept on bouncing.

 

“You need to remember to brush your teeth every day,” Ma said, “And wash behind your ears. And go see Professor Erskine as soon as you can, he’ll sort-”

 

“I know, Ma, can we go through? Please?” Steve widened his eyes, bit his lower lip.

 

“Don’t you try that on me young man,” Ma said, her voice cracking slightly. She bent down, hands sorting out his hair. Steve wrinkled his nose, but lent into the touch. “Love you,” she whispered, just to him.

 

“Love you too, Ma.” Steve whispered back. Ma smiled, hands resting on his shoulders. Then a family clattered by, and her frown was back.

 

“Steve, listen. You have to promise me something, OK?” Steve nodded, hand clenching around the end of his shirt. Ma took a deep breath. “You have to promise me to stay out of trouble.”

 

“But Ma-”

 

“Even if it’s a good cause! Even then, Steve, I know you want to help, but with your condition-”

 

“You always said-”

 

“Your condition isn’t bad Steve. It’s how you are, and there is nothing wrong with that. But other people, other-” she glanced around “wizards, won’t see it that way. They’ll think your condition is what makes you fight, not your heart.” Steve’s toe scuffed against the stone slabs, mouth set in a stubborn pout. “Steve.” Ma shook him, once. “You have to promise.”

 

“Promise,” Steve muttered.  

 

Ma leant forward, kissed his forehead. “That’s my boy. Now, let’s catch that train, shall we?”

 

Steve perked up. “Yeah!”

 

****

 

Bucky’s Father strode through the Muggles like a shark through a school of fish. James strode after him, careful to stay one step behind, no more or less. James’s face was carefully black, hair slicked back.

 

“When you get to the dungeons, your room will have already been prepared. You are to write every week. Every single week, James. Focus on the activities of the Hodge heir in particular, as well as any who seem to be influential.”

 

“Yes, Father,” Bucky said. The words were smooth, like the surface of a pond. Reflective. You couldn’t see underneath. Bucky liked ponds.

 

Soon he would be on the train. Soon his parents wouldn’t be able to touch him, and he could do whatever he wanted, for _months_! He realised he was grinning, and quickly smoothed his expression back to the blank mirror.

 

There was the slightest of springs in his step.

 

****

 

All the compartments were full, groups of older kids chattering away. Steve marched to the next carriage, trunk banging against his thighs. He was going to find a compartment, and sit in it, and _make friends._ He was on a magical goddamn train on his way to magical goddamn school with a magical goddamn wand in his pocket. How hard could it be to find somewhere to sit?

 

The compartment only had one boy in it. He looked young, though he wasn’t as small as Steve. His feet were kicked up onto the seat, and his hair looked weird, shiny but like he’d been dragged backwards through a barn.

 

Steve grinned. Finally, someone his age. He slid open the compartment door, and the boy’s head shot up. His eyes were all wide and panicky.

 

“Who’re you?” he said, pushing himself upright.

 

“My name is Steve Rogers, nice to meet you,” Steve recited. “Are you a first year too?” He dragged his trunk into the compartment, hopping onto the other seat.

 

“Yes.” The boy stared at him, shoulders tensed.

 

Steve stared back, kicking his feet a little. The boy was wearing the school uniform already, plain black robes. “What’s your name?” Steve ventured.

 

“James Buchanan Barnes.” The boy’s head tilted. “Are you a Muggleborn?”

 

“What’s that?” Steve asked, and James’s shoulders relaxed. He leant forward.

 

“‘S someone who didn’t know about magic before they got their letter.” James’s eyes fixed on the scar down Steve’s cheek.  “How’d you get that? Looks _wicked._ ”

 

“Dog got me,” Steve lied. “Had it since I was little. So, are _you_ a Muddleborn?”

 

James grinned. “Y’know what? Just for that, you can call me Bucky.”

 

****

 

The train hissed to a stop, and Bucky blinked. Were they already- His shoulder bumped into Steve’s, jostling to get the best view.

 

There was the Black Lake, shining in the moonlight, and the stars were out, and beautiful Scottish Highlands, but both of them only had eyes for the castle. It loomed over the lake like a hill, a mountain: something so big and so old it was part of the land.

 

“Wow,” Steve breathed. “And we get to _live_ there?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered. “We don’t have to go back home until next summer.” The excitement fizzed under his skin again, and he grinned, throwing himself onto the bench and sprawling out, because he _could._ Mother wasn’t going to snap at him to straighten up, Father wasn’t going to take this away. He was at _Hogwarts._

 

Well, at Hogsmeade Train Station. He sat up, hair falling into his eyes, and stood on the bench, tugging at his trunk. “C’mon!” he grunted.

 

Steve grinned at him, clambering up to get his own trunk. Bucky’d never met a Muggleborn before, and he’d certainly never met anyone like Steve. He’d wanted to be _Gryffindor,_ when Bucky explained the Houses to him.

 

Friends with a Gryffindor! Father would be furious, but he couldn’t do _anything_ to Bucky when Bucky was at Hogwarts. Hell, maybe Bucky would go into Gryffindor too! Surely even Father couldn’t _Obliviate_ _that_ away.

 

Colt’s cage was awkward in his arms, but he managed to get it down without too much screeching. Good thing the owl was still sleepy. Steve was still tugging at his trunk, so James hopped up to help.

 

“I got it,” Steve huffed. “Do your one.”

 

“Already did. Think you sent Colt into a food coma.” Bucky said, reaching over Steve’s head. A sharp elbow poked under his ribs, and he stumbled, almost falling.

 

“Said I got it, jerk,” Steve said, wrenching the trunk off the rack and almost overbalancing. He scowled up at James, sliding down the seat. Bucky hesitated, not sure what he’d done wrong.

 

“Sorry,” he said, shoulders hunching.

 

Steve raised his chin, like he was starting a duel. “I can do things on my own.”

 

“Yeah.” Bucky slid down, like a puppet with it’s strings cut.

 

Steve kept his chin up for a bit longer, staring at James. Then all of a sudden the fight drained out of him. “Dammit,” he muttered. “C’mon, let’s get to the castle already.”

 

Bucky stood up, reaching for his trunk. Steve bumped his shoulder into Bucky’s, clumsily, and smiled at him. Bucky smiled back, shyly, and they were off.

 

****

 

Steve’s fingers were twitching for a pencil as the doors of the castle swung open. The lake had been so still, and as their boat cut through it ripples had ran out across the reflection of the castle. The castle itself hung above them, all buttresses and arches and turrets, and Steve _had_ to draw it.

 

He had time, he told himself. He was living here until Christmas! The sixth-year leading them hurried through the doors with barely a backward glance. Steve followed, feeling the warmth of the castle soak through him.

 

He opened his mouth to tell Bucky, but a hush was settling over the group.

 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said a smooth, crisp voice. The professor stood at the front of the group, brown eyes twinkling. Her lips were bright crimson, but her robes were black and formal. She was beautiful. “My name is Professor Carter. Soon, you’ll get to the feast, but first you’ll have to be Sorted. There are four Houses here, named Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. No one House is better than the others, or lesser. Here, your House is your family.” Her eyes crinkled into a smile. “Now, come. Your life at Hogwarts is about to begin.”

 

****

 

Bucky had heard about the Great Hall. There was a picture of it in _Hogwarts: A History,_ one of the ones that started from pencils and spilled out across the page. But somehow the picture didn’t quite capture how _tall_ it was, how the ceiling melted into the sky. And the _stars…_ He shook himself out of it at the clatter of footsteps on flagstones.

 

He followed Professor Carter, ignoring the whispers and stares. He was surrounded by other first-years. The students couldn’t _all_ be looking at him. He felt his back straightening, his face becoming a blank mask, and scowled. He deliberately dragged his feet against the floor for the next few steps, slouching. The whispers increased in volume.

 

Steve’s chin was sticking up again, and Bucky elbowed him, shaking his head with an eye-roll.

 

Steve frowned, mouth opening, then all of a sudden his eyes widened. His shoulders slumped. Bucky knocked into him, gently, but Steve didn’t look up. They were almost to the front of the Hall.

 

Professor Carter turned on her heel, robes flourishing around her. She stared out over the trestle tables, arching a single eyebrow. Silence fell. All eyes turned to the stool in front of her, and the battered hat lying upon it. Bucky’s eyebrows creased. Surely, _that_ couldn't be the-

 

And then the hat began to sing.

 

****

 

_Oh, let me tell a tale of when_

_this school was first begun_

_Four Founders stood there, hand in hand_

_their powers beat as one_

 

_Each kept within their heart a wish_

_and as each stone was laid_

_Their dreams began to flourish, grow_

_‘Till never could they fade._

 

_Bold Gryffindor he wished for those_

_Who’s hearts like lions fought_

_Against all evils, brave and strong_

_Despite whether they ought_

 

_Fair Ravenclaw she only thought_

_Of students keen to learn_

_Full of wit and cunning, minds_

_Like sparklers they did burn_

 

_Shrewd Slytherin’s mind turned to just_

_those sly, ambitious folk_

_Who tend to slip past obstacles_

_As if they’re made of smoke_

 

_Dear Hufflepuff, kindest of all_

_Just strove to build a home_

_For every child under her care_

_No matter whence they roam_

 

_These four they stood in this Great Hall_

_Newly risen from the ground_

_And though they did not know it yet_

_Each one would be so proud_

 

_For Hogwarts is, and e’er will be_

_A place where all belong_

_So come in! Rejoice! For here you join_

_A family hundreds strong._

 

****

 

Bucky heard the applause, saw the Sorting Hat bow, but the noise washed over him. He held it all back, held it all in. His hands were relaxed at his sides, back straight in perfect posture.

 

“James Barnes,” read Professor Carter, smile becoming the slightest bit tighter. Bucky slid smoothly forward, hands clenched in his robes. The hat felt old, worn. The brim slipped down over his ears, and he pushed it up as he sat.

 

“Well,” said a voice, right into his ear. “What a puzzle. Loyalty, oh plenty of that, but ambition too… and a great deal of courage.”

 

Bucky breathed, deeply. Everyone would expect him to go to Slytherin. He’d _die_ if he was stuck in Slytherin. He knew what he wanted, suddenly.

 

“No, Slytherin would do a mind like yours more harm than good… Hufflepuff, you could do well there, are you sure… Well, you’ve made your mind up. A will like that will suit you well, in GRYFFINDOR!”

 

****

 

Steve watched as Bucky swept the hat off his head, grinning like a loon. He looked over, and Steve shook his head, eyes rolling upward- he forced himself _not_ to google at the ceiling and to watch as Bucky sat down at the long table. Then Professor Carter called the next name.

 

Steve’s eyes wandered to the table at the top of the hall, and he tried to guess which teacher was Professor Erskine. He could be the man with a thin moustache, watching the Sorting with a grin. His eyes gleamed whenever the hat said “RAVENCLAW!” Likely not the twitchy guy with the large forehead, though Steve sternly reminded himself that he Wasn’t to Judge People on their Appearance.

 

He realised with a jolt that Professor Carter had just said his name.

 

“Steve Rogers?” Professor Carter repeated, with a slight frown. Steve stumbled forward, almost tripping on the step. He marched up to the stool, pulling on the Hat.

 

_Ah. That is… interesting._

 

Was the hat _speaking into his head?_

 

_Bravery, kindness, stubborness in_ droves. _I know exactly where to put you, young wolf._

 

“GRYFFINDOR!”, called the same voice Steve had been sure was inside his head, and Steve tugged the bloody thing _off._

 

****

 

And so, it began.


End file.
